Casting Couch
by Vindalootoo
Summary: What if Shu weren’t quite so innocent when he and Yuki first met? Bad Luck is stuck on NG’s vanity label and Shu is doing anything, and everything, to pay the bills. Just when the goal is in sight, a final trick gone sour changes Shu's life forever.
1. Collateral

**Disclaimer**: Gravitation and its characters are the property of Make Murakami. I make no profit from this other than pleasure.

**A/N**: For those wondering where the real Vindaloo went, here's something more in the style you're accustomed to. :D

**This is an AU.** I've done my best to extrapolate the original characters into their new roles, but some OOC-ness is to be expected. Sakano, in particular might surprise. **Please note**: "Vanity label" as used here is probably a misnomer. I've used it as it's used in the publishing industry, which means the creator pays all the bills and the company just does the work. In the music industry, it historically has been a label within a label run by a Big Name Recording Artist and funded by the parent company. I didn't realize this when I wrote the story, so...for the purpose of this story, we're redefining the term.

**Summary**: What if Shu weren't quite so innocent when he and Yuki first met? Bad Luck is an up and coming band on NG's vanity label and Shu is doing anything, and everything, to pay the bills. Just when the album is pressed and the goal is in sight, a final trick gone sour changes his life forever.

**Warnings**: Non-consensual sex, language, yaoi relationships...the usual in an adult Gravi fanfic.

My thanks to Headcase and Moon71 for their early perusal and observations and encouragement, and my apologies for how long it's taken me to actually post this after their super quick responses. Betas rock!

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Casting Couch  
Chapter One: Collateral  
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"Thank you, Tokyo!" Shindou Shuuichi shouted the farewell into his mic and ran off the stage, every neuron tingling with the thrill of a successful concert, every muscle turning to water as the last drop of adrenaline evaporated from his system. He collapsed into the first vacant chair that crossed his path and accepted, with blind thanks, the water bottle someone thrust into his numb fingers.

"Great job, Shu!" Nakano Hiroshi, Bad Luck's lead guitarist and Shuuichi's best friend since childhood, gave him a friendly _thunk_ on his head as he passed, making his customary dash to the bathroom.

Something about ending a concert made Hiro have to pee.

Shuuichi sipped, when he wanted desperately to gulp. Hiro came off having to pee, _he _had to drink about a gallon of water before he could.

Go figure.

They both sweated like pigs onstage, both worked their tails off, yet they had 'diametrically opposed' (according to their manager, Sakano) 'biological reactions.'

Weird, Shuuichi called it...and gulped water defiantly.

"Slowly, please, Shindou-san." Sakano's voice arrived first, and when Shuuichi lowered his water bottle, feeling ever-so-guilty, their spit-n-polish manager was standing in front of him. "Excellent, as always, Shindou-san, but we must protect that throat."

Shuuichi finished the bottle and tossed it into the recycle bin, before grinning up at his manager, little more than a silhouette against the still-strobing stage lights. "It felt good out there tonight, Sakano-san. Real good."

"You _looked_... fantastic."

Kami-sama, he knew that tone, even if the voice was that of a stranger. He didn't have to look beyond Sakano to know his manager had not arrived alone. Shuuichi's heart sank. He'd thought, he'd truly thought, all that was behind him. Their first single had done respectably. The album was cut and ready to ship. Surely, _surely_ he didn't have to grovel anymore.

"Are you hungry, Shu-kun?" the stranger asked.

"No," he answered flatly...to his knees.

"Nonsense," Sakano said, with a nervous-sounding laugh. Kami-sama, he played the part well: Sakano was never, _ever_ nervous. But he used that façade to manipulate with an ease even Seguchi Touma praised. "Shindou-san is always starving after a performance."

In private, of course. Seguchi Touma would never acknowledge such a talent where any of the manipulatees might hear. Manipulatees like this large man in a designer suit. Or Hiro. Even Seguchi's own young cousin, Fujisaki Suguru, whom Sakano had manipulated into playing keyboards for Bad Luck, leaving Shuuichi free to 'focus on singing.'

At the front of the stage. Dressed in outfits that would make a whore blush. Manipulated to that exposed position by Sakano's nervous pleas.

Shuuichi wondered, sometimes, just _when _he'd ceased to be a member of that set, the pawns the elite chess players manipulated, and began to see the game for what it truly was. He supposed it was the first time he'd naïvely agreed to have dinner with one of Sakano's 'friends.'

It was, so Sakano had explained afterward, when Shuuichi had gone to his manager in tears, necessary. NG had agreed to carry Bad Luck, but on the secondary, vanity label. Vanity. That meant Bad Luck had to pay for everything, from studio time to distribution to hiring venues like this club in which to perform. Shuuichi had no investment capital, and he'd never, _ever_ ask Hiro to risk his college fund. Sakano's 'friends' had 'investment capital,' but they'd needed 'collateral.'

Collateral. One night stands with the band's lead singer. A small price to pay, so Sakano had insisted, for success.

Of course, Sakano wasn't the one having to endure night after night of strange hands pawing at him. Sakano wasn't the one who had had to learn to put the reality of his sex life in one part of his soul and the dream of love in another. Sakano wasn't the one who had to find the lyrics of love within a muse battered by that encroaching reality of nameless, emotionless rutting.

But then, Sakano had had no idea just how naïve Shuuichi had been. Sakano still believed Shuuichi had been... well... as experienced as every nineteen-year-old boy claimed to be. Just like his 'friends,' Sakano had bought into Bad Luck's lead singer's androgynously sexual stage image. Bought into and cheerfully taken advantage of, when opportunity knocked.

And by the time Shuuichi had had to face the reality of that created image, an image he'd slipped on like a second skin from the time he was ten, an image he and Hiro played to the hilt... like a damned _game... _by that time, it had seemed pretty lame to proclaim innocence. Male, female... it didn't matter. If they wanted a piece of Shindou, they got it—for a price. And that price got Bad Luck in clubs like this and on a soon-to-be-available-at-a-store-near-you CD.

The fat, middle-aged man was still babbling what he probably thought were romantically enticing compliments. Shuuichi stifled the objections that filled him, made all the proper noises, and escaped to his tiny dressing room to change for an intimate dinner with Sakano's 'friend.'

A single rap at his door was all the warning he got, but he'd learned early on to shed his costume for street clothes in record time, so he didn't particularly care when Sakano slipped through the door.

"I brought you the ducats for the next concert."

Ducats. Free passes. For all the friends he didn't have. Ah, well, Maiko, his sister, would be home next week for the summer. She'd want to come. Maybe even have some friends she'd like to haul along for a college girls' night on the town. He shoved the tickets into his pocket and twisted back around to face the mirror.

He'd already begun to remove his stage make-up when his manager's face appeared over his shoulder, studying his half-clean face in the mirror.

"My friend _really _likes exotic."

Which meant finish cleaning the stage makeup, but replace eyeliner and in general, make himself up like the whore he'd become.

Shuuichi dipped his head, resigned, and applied a second pre-moistened sheet to his face.

A hand on his shoulder made him jump, and without warning, Shuuichi found himself sobbing uncontrollably into his crossed arms, the makeup scattered across the table and onto the floor.

"This is the last, Shu-kun," his manager's voice was uncharacteristically gentle. "The album is good. Very good. Better, if we'd managed to get the president's input, but I simply couldn't get him to so much as listen to your demo. He's convinced Bad Luck is simply one more Nittle Grasper rip-off, and you're nothing but a Ryuichi wannabe."

"But that's the problem." Shuuichi gulped, forced his pointless tears into oblivion, where they belonged. "That's exactly what I am." He grabbed another cleaner-sheet and scrubbed ruthlessly at his face. Sakano hissed objection and disappeared out the door, returning almost immediately with a washcloth dampened in the ice-melt from the cooler.

Shuuichi flashed him an apologetic glance and pressed the chilled cloth to his abused skin. He knew better. He knew his face, (for all he still looked like the monkey Hiro had always called him), like his body and his voice, was an asset to the band. His job was to take care of all of them. His future, but more importantly, Hiro's, depended on it. Hiro had given up everything to give Bad Luck a chance. Suguru, with his talent and his connections, would never have to worry about employment, but Shuuichi couldn't let his best friend down. Ever.

So, he took care of his monkey-face. Kept his body in shape. Didn't smoke, rarely drank alcohol, kept his caffeine intake strictly moderate, and in general thought people who did drugs to be the real idiots in life.

His one indulgence was his Pocky, and damned if he'd give that up. Not even for Hiro.

And damned if he didn't insist those 'friends' of Sakano's use condoms, giving and receiving, no matter _how_ much they were willing to 'invest.' Another lesson he'd learned fast, after that first time and a terrified visit to a local clinic. Funny how words like _STDs_, _babies_, and _dead _took on a whole new meaning after that one night.

"Shuuichi..." Sakano pulled a chair up beside him and sat down, swiveling the broken-down office chair Shuuichi was sitting on to face him.

Kami-sama, Shuuichi thought, he was in for one of _those_ talks, the discussions designed to reconcile him to Sakano's 'friends.' He stared down at the washcloth, wondering vaguely which of those stains were his, and which belonged to other performers, other no-names who'd rented this place to give a concert, hoping to be discovered. Hoping to become something other than a no-name.

"Shu-kun, you're wrong. You're nobody's _wannabe,_ do you hear me?" Sakano's fingers encircled his wrists, and Sakano's voice demanded he meet his manager's dark brown eyes. "I know Sakuma Ryuichi is your idol, but you're _not _him. You're special. You've got a... purity Ryu can only dream about. I don't know how you do it. I wish with all my heart we'd been able to get Seguchi-san's input to display that quality to it's best advantage, but he's been unbelievably stubborn. I...overplayed my hand with other, lesser bands in the past. He won't listen to me any more."

Shuiichi didn't know what to say. _Purity_ was the last word he'd ever again apply to himself.

"It's my fault," Sakano continued, "I haven't the contacts or the vision to help you the way you deserve. It sickens me to put you through this nonsense with these child molesters and I can only thank all the gods that have helped you resist their destructive influence. Fortunately, you're not a child, for all you seem, despite everything you do, to have the innocence of one. I wish... but I don't know what else to do. There are so many bands now, so many outlets for the legitimate investors. These men and women... they have money, but that's all they have. You... give them a legitimate tax deduction as well as a night to remember. I don't know—and don't _want_ to know—what you do for and to them—"

"Nothing. _Nothing!_" Shuuichi cried out, interrupting this crazed flow of unwanted information. He didn't do anything. He was a funny-looking, awkward idiot; Hiro assured him of that daily. He was...he was nothing but a doll they played with. He couldn't understand, had _never_ understood why these people were interested in him. The only thing, the _only_ thing he had to offer was a night with the lead singer of what one day might, and that was a very large might, be a famous rock band.

"I told you, Shu, I don't care. As long as you don't get hurt. I've had to count on you to be honest with me on that score."

That much was true. He'd flat out left, once, when it got too rough—run away, actually, bleeding and terrified—and Sakano had never blamed him, even though they'd lost a lot of money.

Neither had the behavior been repeated.

Sakano tried. Sakano had tried, very hard. And he hadn't been hurt. Not really. He was no girl, to whine about love and virginity. It was just...sex. Sex didn't mean anything to guys. Right?

He pressed his lips on the tears that threatened again.

Right.

"Whatever they get from you," his manager persisted, "it's better than any drug. The word got around, and that's _how _we got the money we needed."

"If we've _got_ what we need, then why—"

"This man... he's not money, Shu-kun, he's distribution. He heard about you from one of the investors and he's..." Sakano frowned. Hard. "He's waffling. He's the buyer for a huge chain of stores. He decides what those stores carry and what they play in house. You've got all the talent in the world, but you and I both know that's nothing without distribution and exposure. Once people hear you, Shu-kun, they'll buy. I promise you. Impress this man, make him happy, and you've got your million copies sold. Guaranteed. _Sold, _Shu, not just distributed."

A million copies. The dream of his youth. His and Hiro's.

Funny how unimportant that seemed at the moment. At the moment, all he could think of was those thick lips leaving a trail of slime across his neck, the fat hands stroking, invading... the large body pressing...

"Please, Shu. Once more. Just once."

He bit his lips and closed his eyes.

And nodded, before his courage left him.

**TBC**

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Please R&R.


	2. Vanity

**Disclaimer**: _Gravitation _and its characters are the property of Maki Murakami. I make no profit from this other than pleasure.

**This is an AU,** chapter one caveats still apply. :D

**Warnings**: Non-consensual sex, language, yaoi relationships...the usual in an adult Gravi fanfic.

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**Casting Couch  
****Chapter 2: Vanity  
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"Don't forget to lock the door behind you!"

Shuuichi silently obeyed, leaving the 'investor's' hotel room behind him, feeling lighter of heart than he had in months.

The last time. Sakano had promised. The last time, the last time, last, last, last... oh, what a beautiful, _beautiful_ word...

He skipped and danced his way down the steps and out into the street. As usual, he was in an unfamiliar part of town and as usual, he was going to have to find his own way back to the studio. Curious how these investors of Sakano's never cared whether the lead singer of their 'investment' caught pneumonia on his way home. Or got mugged.

Or raped.

Or murdered.

To them, Shindou Shuuichi was nothing but a tax write-off. With benefits.

Shuuichi laughed off his own morbidity and on a sudden whim, headed for the park across the street from the hotel, dancing to the music in his head. He wasn't sleepy, wouldn't be until the throb in his ass dissipated, he knew that from frustrating experience. Sakano's investors always insisted they were having a good time, but somehow, _his_ enjoyment of the evening was never particularly important. Oh, he'd come... several times. He couldn't really help himself. His own body responded with all the vigor of horny youth, but that didn't mean he liked it. Any of it.

Didn't mean he didn't cry into his pillow until the ache in his head overpowered the ache in his behind.

But he really hadn't had much choice, not if he wanted to sing. It was, so Sakano had made clear in that private meeting following the first 'dinner party,' part of the game he had to play to make it big. Sakano _hadn't_ known how naïvely ignorant he was. Had been honestly appalled to discover his client hadn't _known_ what he'd agreed to simply by going to that dinner. It was a game played often enough, so Sakano claimed, within the vanity label business. A game he'd simply assumed Shuuichi understood.

Sakano had explained all that, then given him the chance to back out...even as he'd made it clear that calling it quits would end the dream. Everyone, these days, so Sakano had explained, thought they could make it as a singer, a writer, or a mangaka. All those no-talents, so Sakano had explained, had milked dry all other avenues of funding long before Bad Luck came along.

Which meant, Shuuichi had had no choice. He wasn't about to give up on the dream. He knew the only place in the world he belonged was onstage, singing his heart out to the world. And that meant, quite simply, playing the game.

But the game was over now, he thought, spinning in time to the music only he heard. He _had _made it, damned if he hadn't. They had the CD ready to ship and a concert tour nearly finalized, awaiting only the reviews on the first week of sales, and sales, the fat man had promised, were in the bag. These nights of courting investors were finally at an end.

He spun again, wishing—Oh, how he wished—for one of those fancy MP3 players like Hiro had. He'd eyed them often enough, but couldn't justify the expenditure, no matter it could be a tax write-off for Bad Luck. In the exchange, an MP3 was a night with one of the lesser investors in one of the seedier hotels, and not worth it. Not worth it at all. Not when his own head could supply the tunes.

And so, he spun to those tunes in his head. Spun and spun until, breathless and dizzy, he came up against a railing and clung there, like a drowning man to a life preserver, eyes closed as the wonderful giddiness slowly subsided.

When it was safe, he opened his eyes...on a wonderland of spinning stars.

And laughed softly at himself: it was only the city lights, but oh, such a view.

Chilled, now he'd stopped moving, he shoved his cold hands in his pockets, found, along with those useless ducats, a paper, a napkin, from the feel. Curious, not remembering putting it there, he pulled it out.

It was the words to a song. Sort of. An idea, mostly, that had come to him in the middle of a solitary dinner at MacD's last week. He'd almost forgotten about it. It wasn't great, hadn't truly begun to gel, but it was a start. He leaned on the railing and looked out over the lights of the city, letting the feelings more than the words run through his head, trusting his hindbrain to sort out the lyrics and let him know when they were ready.

A sweet-scented breeze rose, bringing with it a hint of a melody, a suggestion of the soul behind those elusive lyrics hanging almost forgotten in his hand. He closed his eyes and as the scent washed over him, he began to hum, adding the formative melody to the breeze.

"Nice voice." The dry, cynical tone set oddly on the beautiful baritone voice. "But you should take it to a karaoke bar before some nature lover has you arrested for disturbing the peace."

Shuuichi started, twisting away from the railing, turning toward the voice, wincing from the bright light on the far side of a tall graceful figure.

"You write this?" The silhouette lifted a hand. A piece of paper fluttered wildly between two fingers, as if trying to escape.

Shuuichi realized, suddenly, that his own hands were empty, and recognized the backlit napkin. "Yes."

"Lyrics?"

"_Yeah_." Wasn't it obvious?

What sounded very like a snort of disgust still managed, somehow, to be elegant. "You should stick to karaoke. Your voice doesn't totally suck, but those lyrics do. Bunch of virginal romantic tripe." The man began to walk toward him, his stride smooth, panther-like in its grace. "When will you teenyboppers learn you have to live life before you can write about it?"

The tall man released the paper as he passed Shuuichi. It fluttered away in the breeze, eluding Shuuichi's fingers to come to rest on the gravel. Shuuichi stopped its escape with the toe of his sneaker.

"You're welcome to your opinion," he said, bending to rescue the paper.

A pregnant pause, then: "Cocky little bastard, aren't you?"

"Maybe." He folded the paper and shoved it back in his pocket. "And maybe I just write about the way I think love can be, if only you try hard enough."

"Bull shit is bull shit, no matter how you sugar coat it." The man grunted and began to walk away. "Fuck. Write what you want. What do I care? It's not like anyone will ever hear that crap."

Defiance flared. He didn't know why he gave a damn about this cold-voiced bastard's opinion—maybe it was because tonight was the 'last time.' Maybe he just felt like finally, somehow, he was legitimate and didn't have to take crap from anyone—but suddenly, he wanted to shove that insult down the fancy-dressed throat.

"Hold up."

The tall figure paused, and twisted toward him, and the man's now-visible face took Shuuichi's breath away. He was... gorgeous. Sculpted features, pale hair glowing in the streetlight... not even the arrogant frown could destroy the effect.

If anything, it only increased the mysterious attraction.

"Yes?" Sharp. Annoyed. Impatient to be off.

Shuuichi fumbled in his pocket for the ducats, pulled out two and thrust them toward the man, who looked down his thin nose at the slips of paper.

"Passes," Shuuichi said abruptly. "To my next _concert._ Two of them, on the off-chance you can find some poor girl desperate enough to accept a date with a jerk like you."

He didn't know why he offered them, but it wasn't as if he needed them. Other than the one for Maiko, they'd just go to waste.

"Concert, eh?" A slow, one-sided smile tightened the thin mouth. "How old _are_ you, brat?"

"Not that it matters, but I'm nineteen. Twenty, next month."

The gorgeous man... snorted. That was, positively, a snort. "So... what is this, _brat_? A challenge? Planning to prove me wrong?"

"You _are _wrong, you arrogant prick." He strove for taunting, but somehow it came out a mumbled protest.

"Why? Because you've managed to convince the poor owner of some local dive to let you charge fifty yen a head to endure your caterwauling?"

"It's not a dive." And those tickets were worth considerably more than fifty lousy yen!

"No?"

"Scared?" Surely that qualified as a taunt, he thought triumphantly, and wiggled the fingers holding the passes suggestively.

Another snort, and the man snatched the passes with a lightning quick move of his hand.

Like a snake striking.

A slow, deliberate perusal of the tickets, and Shuuichi's triumph died as quickly as it had been born.

The gorgeous man was laughing.

"So," the disgustingly gorgeous-elegant-graceful-blond man said, when he'd caught his breath. "You're Touma's newest boy toy."

Indignation flared, but before he could protest, strong fingers gripped his chin and held him face-to the light for an inspection that had his blood racing before the inspection ended in a condescending pat of his cheek. "Sure, brat, why not?"

"Seguchi Touma is the president of NG records and my _boss_!" It was, Shuuichi decided, physically impossible for a man his size to look down his nose at a man as tall as the blond. Damn it. "I must ask that you speak of him with respect!"

A chuckle that was more sneer rippled the air between them. "I'll speak _of_ and _to_ my brother-in-law however I damnwell please, sweet-thing."

Shuuichi's blood ran cold, then hot. He didn't know what to protest more, the implication of _his _relationship to the owner of NG or... this man's. Seguchi Touma's brother-in-law. That famous author-person Hiro-the-bookworm always talked about. Damn... what was his name?

Memory flared. He took a deliberate step closer and in a move almost as fast as the author's had been, snatched the tickets back.

"What the—"

Triumph replaced the seething anger. He'd actually managed to startle this unforgivably-perfect person.

"I've changed my mind," he said, finding a satisfyingly chilly tone within. "You want to go? You can buy your own ticket, Yuki Eiri-san."

**TBC**

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**A/N**: Heh heh...do y'all like the way I kept the park meeting in? Not that it required much in the way of planning. There are certain images so darn key to these two, you just can't avoid them. Anyway...next time, _Songbird_.

**Reviews:** I want to thank everyone for their reviews. It really helps me pinpoint and refine potential problems in upcoming chapters. (Not to mention, plan for the sequel!) :D So, if you like the story, please keep the gut reactions of what you _expect_ to happen coming. If those expectations aren't met in this first segment, they might well in the follow-up. I've known I wanted to write more along the story line but until your reviews started to come in, I wasn't certain where it would go. It's now taking shape. (Yay)

Because of time restraints, I'm going to keep my responses to a minimum this time, (much as I'd love to respond to everyone directly), and try to address the more universal questions/comments.

**Sakano **is kind of a cipher in this. He's not really _bad,_ so much as playing a necessary and generally accepted game. I mean...is a pimp a pimp if he's not really getting anything out of it? (More on that later in the story.) This is not to excuse him, but in his own way, he's tried to look out for Shu. His manipulation of Shu's choice in the first chapter isn't _all_ manipulation. He really means what he says about Shu's talent and the part Seguchi's refusal to even listen to their tape played in the need to take this route.

The creative business is not a pretty one. There are always those with no creative ability of their own who want to bask in the light (and who bask in the power to control that talent, even for a short time.) I have no direct evidence that this happens in the music industry (though I'd be surprised if it didn't) but I've certainly known others to be caught in the trap in different creative milieus.

So...is Sakano to blame? The industry "standard?" Seguchi (for not listening?) Or maybe fate, since this set of circumstances put the boys in the park on this fateful night? I don't really have an answer. I just found it an interesting position to put Sakano into. :D

I also always had the feeling that Sakano's a recognized "type" within Japan (and not only there!) The clever but always submissive underling who's playing an accepted role, but who also has the talent to be more than he is. Whether in the manga or the anime, it's interesting that Touma is constantly piling more responsibility on him...just as Ryu piles more and more pressure on Shu. Curious coincidence? Or conscious parallel? Who knows except MM?

**YukiXShu: **As I hope is obvious from this chapter, this is definitely a Yuki/Shu fic. I honestly don't think I could stand writing anything else. They simply belong together.

'**Shuuichi**' vs '**Shuichi**': I know in the Tokyopop version, it's always translated as the single u, however, if you go by the Hiragana used in the original manga and when Shu's name is introduced, it's actually translated as "Shi-yu-u-i-chi (Shiyuuichi). The Japanese voice actors (esp K) frequently extend the "u" in the anime. Besides, one of my favorite spellings for Shuuichi uses the heart of autumn kanji for the syllable "Shuu." (As distinctly opposed to the kanji choices for "Shu") I'm not certain that's the kanji used in the manga, (guess I should look it up:D) but I've used this a couple of times in my stories and love the connotation. But mainly I just like the look and sound of the extended uu. Anyway...that's why I spell it this way. :D

Thanks again to everyone who reviewed. Hope you continue to enjoy! Til next time—Vin.


	3. Author's Note

**Hi, all!**

I'm really sorry for the mixup, but Casting Couch has been moved. It's now "Casting Couch Re-posted." I was having all sorts of technical difficulties with this story. Half the time I visited the site, the second chapter wouldn't show and then the reviews link was saying 'can't find story." At the current time, both these problems appear resolved, but rather than mess with a possibly chancy set of links, I reposted from the beginning. Chapter three is up on the other posting.

Thanks for your patience!

Vin


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